Filling The Blanks: Circe

Circe was a footnote in Aaron's long line of conquests. A Wonder Woman villain turned island manager. Indeed, calling her a footnote was not inaccurate. She was no Zatanna or Catwoman. She didn't stack up to Talia al Ghul or some of the other ladies he fucked silly.

However, even footnotes left their mark. While on the plane back to Gotham, after fucking Selina and burying his load deep inside her, he was back to sitting and relaxing.

Inevitably, he thought about his time with Circe. He remembered the gazebo he sat in and the well-hung Ani-Men around him. Humanoids as buff as a wrestler, as tall as a basketball player, and nearly as well-hung as Aaron. Indeed, these men were no slouches. Their dark schlongs hung seven inches down. A fusion of bulls and humans created by Circe herself.

Despite being surrounded by three of them, Aaron wasn't the least bit intimidated. Compared to him, these puppets were insignificant.

“So what am I here?” Aaron could have used his powers to figure it out. However, he was intrigued and he wanted to hear it from her own mouth.

“A statue of you,” Circe said. “I wish to build a mold of your body.”

Aaron blinked. “Really? A statue?”

“The largest penis in the world deserves to be commemorated,” Circe said. “Plus, it makes for an excellent tourist attraction.”

“Isn’t this island largely intended for former villains and rich people?” Aaron questioned.

“I’d like to increase the number of female villains,” Circe said. “Your body…would do very nicely.”

“Well…” Aaron eyed the woman. She was stunning and while he sensed an attraction he didn’t think she wanted to fuck him. No, more specifically, she’d like to fuck Aaron but she put that thought before her desire to have a statue in his name. “You have an hour. I have to leave this island by the end of the day.”

“Why, of course.” Circe stood up, hands on the table and licking her lips. “We will not take longer than an hour, Mr. Aaron Reigner.”

Circe purposely underestimated the time it would take her to get a mould of his body. Ordinarily, it was a long process but for a witch of her calibre she could skip practically the steps with a flick of her hand. Her control of magic was devastating and efficient.

Devastating yet feeble compared to his own.

As her hips swayed and she smirked down at him, Aaron knew what to do. She said an hour and they had fifty minutes remaining. He did what he did best—seduce her.

Seduce Circe, former enemy of Wonder Woman.

A finger drew circles on the table, inching toward him. One step, two steps…

“Although won't a statue discourage other men?”

Circe stopped. He’d challenged her, questioned her motives, and she’d met his gaze without flinching. The threat had been delicious, a spark in the humid air. “If that is your will, I will burn your balls to a crisp and then fuck my Ani-Men instead.”

And behind him, the Ani-Men had responded on some unseen command, their previously flaccid state vanishing into staggering, dripping erections that would make any mortal man weep.

Twelve inches. A commendable effort.

It was then he decided to play. A simple snap of his fingers. The world stuttered. The buzzing insects in the jungle beyond froze in mid-air. A droplet of condensation hung, suspended, on the edge of a marble glass. The Ani-Men were utterly still, magnificent statues themselves now, their massive erections a frozen tribute to Circe’s will.

But Circe herself did not freeze. Her eyes, a captivating swirl of violet and gold, widened not in fear, but in pure, unadulterated delight. A slow, wicked smile spread across her perfect lips. She understood the display for what it was: an invitation.

“Oh, you are a devil,” Circe breathed, the words a hushed reverence in the absolute silence. With a flick of her own wrist, the table between them shimmered and transformed, smoothing and elongating into a long, obsidian plinth, cool and sleek against the tropical heat.

“Lie down,” Circe commanded, though her voice was suddenly softer, a whisper of silk. It was no longer the order of a mistress to a subject, but the request of one artist to another.

Amused, Aaron complied. The dark stone was pleasantly cool against his back. He watched her, saying nothing, his expression one of lazy expectation.

Circe approached him, her hips swaying in a hypnotic rhythm. She didn’t look at his face. Her entire focus was lower. Flaccid cock, twitching.

A sharp, involuntary intake of breath escaped her. Her professional demeanor cracked for a single, glorious second. She had seen the Ani-Men, creations of her own magic. She knew the measurements of myth and legend. But this… this was something else entirely. It was not just its flaccid size, which was already the stuff of legend, but its potential. The sheer, breathtaking promise of it.

Her fingers, long and elegant, trembled slightly as she reached out. The first touch. Her skin was warm, her touch feather-light, tracing the shape of him from root to tip with a scholar’s reverence. It was not a caress of passion, not yet. It was a study.

“Perfect,” Circe whispered, more to herself than to him. “The symmetry is… divine.”

Her hand closed around him, and a jolt, electric and hot, shot through them both. She began to stroke, a measured, rhythmic pump designed for one purpose alone: to bear witness to his full glory. She watched, fascinated, as he grew and hardened under her expert ministrations. The cock responded to her touch as if it were her own magic compelling it.

And he grew. And grew.

The air around her hand began to shimmer with a faint, golden light. Tiny, intricate runes, too fast for the mortal eye to see, spiraled from her fingertips onto his skin, recording every contour, every vein, every subtle curve. This was her art. This was her spell. Each stroke was a measurement, each pass of her hand a scan, memorizing the exact weight, density, and heat of him.

Aaron lay back, his head resting on the cool stone, a low groan escaping his lips. His eyes were closed, not in ecstasy, but in concentration, feeling the bizarre and intensely erotic sensation of his own form being so meticulously catalogued. He could feel the magic, a faint buzzing tease against his skin, copying him, stealing him.

Her breath came quicker now, a faint sheen of perspiration on her brow. The magical effort was immense, the precision absolute. Her fist pumped steadily, the slick sound of her skin on his a stark contrast to the utter silence of the frozen world around them. She was measuring the pulse that throbbed within him, the way the crown swelled to its full, magnificent diameter.

When she finally stilled her hand, he was at his absolute peak. Fourteen inches of utterly rigid, breathtaking perfection, gleaming under the tropical sun, a testament to his own unique power, now captured in her own.

Circe pulled her hand away, her fingers glowing with concentrated magic. She held them up, and the light coalesced, swirling into a spinning, miniature orb of pure energy. With a final, whispered incantation, she flung the orb toward the center of the courtyard.

The air warped. Light and shadow bent and pulled, coalescing from the ground up. Stone, or something that looked like it, erupted from the earth, sculpting itself with impossible speed. It formed a massive plinth, and upon it, a perfect, larger-than-life replica of Aaron’s body, reclining just as he was now. And rising from between the legs, in staggering, meticulous detail, was the statue’s centerpiece.

A perfect, fourteen-inch cock, carved in flawless, pearlescent white stone. It was a monument to male potency, a trophy, a piece of art.

It was funny. The statue worked partially because Aaron's cock was now proportional to his height. Indeed, being five-foot-eleven, the biggest cock seemed out of place. The people viewing the statue wouldn't realize anything was out of place now that he was ten-feet tall.

The spell complete, Circe’s shoulders slumped slightly, the energy leaving her in a rush. She turned back to look at the real Aaron, her eyes wide with a new, altogether different kind of hunger.

Circe was a woman of many looks and beauties. Her hair could be as red as flames or as black as night. On this day, she chose a long-purple haired form with golden hoops. Fully nude too. The statue was magnificent, a cold, hard testament to his physical perfection, but it was the living, breathing man before her that commanded her complete attention.

Her gaze dropped from his smirking lips to the monument between his legs. It was still there, huge and magnificent, a stark, flesh-and-blood contrast to its stone counterpart. The hypnotic sway returned to her hips as she closed the distance between them.

Circe didn’t kneel. She flowed downward until her face was level with his formidable erection.

“A tribute deserves a proper…unveiling,” Circe purred, her breath a warm, shocking caress against his heated skin.

Her tongue, slick and pink, emerged. She didn’t dive in. She teased. A single, long, flat lick from the very base of his shaft all the way to the glistening tip, where a bead of pre-cum had already formed. She collected it on her tongue, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she savored the taste. Salty. Musky. Potent. The essence of the man himself.

Aaron’s hand came to rest on the back of her head, not forcing, but guiding. A silent command she was all too eager to obey. She opened her mouth, and he watched, utterly captivated, as she attempted to take him in.

It was an act of worship and a feat of anatomy. Her lips stretched to their absolute limit, accommodating the impossible girth of his crown. A soft, choked sound of effort and pleasure escaped her as she pushed forward, taking another inch, then another. Her eyes, wide and watering slightly, never left his. He could see the strain in her jaw, the absolute focus in her stunning features. She was a sorceress of immense power, and in this moment, her entire world had narrowed to the Herculean task of fitting more of him inside her.

She began to move, establishing a rhythm that was as magical as any incantation. Her head bobbed slowly, each descent a little deeper, a little more confident. One of her hands came up to cradle his heavy sac, rolling his balls with a gentle, knowing pressure. The other wrapped around the base of his shaft, her fingers unable to meet, merely stroking what her mouth could not yet hope to contain.

Aaron sucked in a breath. The wet, velvet heat of her mouth. The scraping tease of her teeth, so carefully avoided. The sucking pressure that threatened to pull the very soul from his body. He could feel his balls clench. He watched her, this proud, formidable woman, rendered into a vessel of pure desire, servicing him with a fervor that bordered on the religious.

Mayor Circe had experience only with her Ani-Men, never with the men of this beach. Her standards required a high threshold started by her husband.

“That’s it. Take your tribute.”

His words seemed to spur her on. Her pace increased, her throat relaxing as she took him deeper, hitting the very back, her nose finally buried in the coarse hair at his base. She held him there, swallowing around him, and the vibration was his undoing.

The climax tore through him without warning, a seismic event. A guttural groan was ripped from his throat as his hips bucked upward, driving himself even deeper into her willing mouth. Rope after thick rope of his release surged into her throat. Circe’s eyes shot wide with surprise, then slid shut in ecstasy as she swallowed desperately, her throat working around each new pulsating wave, taking every last drop of him.

When he was finally spent, she pulled back with a soft, wet pop, gasping for air. A single, pearlescent trickle escaped the corner of her lips. She caught it with a finger and brought it to her mouth, sucking it clean, her gaze burning with a new, **** fire.

“Now,” Circe breathed, her voice husky and used. She turned her back to him, placing her hands on the newly-formed stone plinth of his own statue. Then, she bent over, presenting herself to him. The sublime curve of her ass and the tease of her cunt was balls-wrenching. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her violet eyes dark with need. “Claim your tribute, Aaron Reigner. Breed this witch. Fill this island with the memory of you.”

Aaron stood. Fourteen inches of dick bobbed up and down and her ass happily wagged left and right. He moved behind her, his still-hard length resting against the cleft of her ass.

“You still don’t understand,” he declared. “This isn’t about you offering. It was never yours to give. It

His cock was slick with cum. He took a moment to appreciate the view. Two perfect, sculpted ass cheeks, pale and begging to be smacked. He brought his hand down on one cheek in a sharp, stinging slap.

The sound cracked through the silence. Circe gasped. "Y-you...!" A faint, red imprint of his hand bloomed on her perfect skin. But in her head, there was no disrespect. 'Gods, yes,' she thought, her mind swimming in a sea of submission and raw need. 'More. Mark me. Give me a REAL cock.'

Ani-Men were but her servants. They tended to her whims and nothing more. But this man...he could give her what she could not expect. He could surprise her. Change her. Make her world born anew.

The broad, leaking head of his cock nudging against her slick, waiting entrance. He teased her, rubbing the tip through her wetness, painting her folds with his own pre-cum, but not entering.

Circe whimpered, a ****, broken sound. “Aaron… please… take what is yours.”

He gave her what she begged for.

Circe hummed her delight. That first inch was something, alright. She gasped and threw her head back. The girth alone was obscene. She looked up at the cock statue above her. "O-oh Hecate! Oh, forgive me! T-this cock...!"

Slowly, Aaron pushed. Slowly, more and more of his cock went inside. Slowly...

"Oh, forgive me, husband! This cock has already gone deeper than you!"

He surpassed all notions of magic.

He glanced over at the frozen Ani-Men. Aaron snorted. “Watch as I make your master orgasm properly, puppets.”

In one powerful, unyielding thrust, he buried all fourteen inches of himself inside her.

Circe’s back arched violently, her head thrown back as a scream was torn from her lungs, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure ecstasy that echoed in the unnatural silence. “AARON!” Her inner walls, so tight and impossibly hot, clamped down around him in a vise-like spasm, her first orgasm crashing over her without warning. Her knees buckled, but his hands on her hips held her firm, kept her impaled on his magnificent length.

'Watch as I plow her!'

CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!

SCHLAP—! SCHLAP—! SCHLAP–! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—!

He gave her no quarter. He set a brutal, punishing pace from the very start. Each withdrawal was a slow, torturous slide that left her feeling empty and aching. Each plunge was a deep, claiming piston that hammered into her very core, stretching her, filling her beyond what she thought possible. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting was the only rhythm in the motionless world.

"YES, YES, YESSS! THIS IS A REAL COCKKK!! THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN SEARCHING FORR!!!"

He grinned. He put himself ontop of her. "Better than your husband!?"

A gasp. A nod. Tears. She could hardly say anything anymore as he fucked her senseless. See, when he was like this, when he was whispering and close, his hips didn't have much space to thrust. Meaning, more speed. Meaning, more kisses to a woman's womb. Meaning...

"CUMMMIIING! CUMMINNNNG!!"

All the woman could do was shriek her orgasms.

One hand snaked up her taut stomach to find her breast. He cupped the heavy, generous boobs and his calloused fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling. It was like he had no flaws. Most men might just fuck but not him. Her pink nipples getting pleased sent fresh, electric jolts of pleasure straight to her already overstimulated core.

Another orgasm ripped through her, this one a rolling, continuous wave that made her vision blur at the edges. “YES! YES! RIGHT THERE! DON’T STOP!” she screamed, her voice hoarse. Her magic flickered around them in harmless, shimmering sparks.

That was when he saw all of her.

Her husband, her past, all of it.

Circe was a princess of Colchis in the Caucasus region. It was said that she was the daughter of the Sun himself and that her radiance was a gift to man. That her beauty had no parallel. She was wedded to the heir to one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the Caucasus, but he was a brute, drunk, and liar man, so she saw him as an animal, and finally killed him. Chased by the prince's family, Circe fled Colchis, and after sailing alone for days and nights, surviving hunger and thirst, she landed on an island where she met the goddess Hecate, who revealed that she had come to her answering her prayers full of spite.

It was why she only trusted her Ani-Men to fuck her. Circe the Weaver despised men. She once told Wonder Woman: "With men I know what to expect. An initial spurt of bravura teamed in the end with cowardice. Even the best of men are driven by--at most--two or three desires. Easily manipulated. Like putty, but with too much hair."

"CAN'T! CAN'T STOP CUMMIIING! THE CHOSEN COCKKK! I CAN'T STOP CUMMING FROM IT!!!"

Her face was one of pride. It was born as the greatest beauty of her time and overtime became that of confidence, of a woman who had no equal.

Until now.

CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!

Deep down, even after her all her battles and worship with Wonder Woman and Hecate, she believed. She wanted to meet a man worthy of her. She had lived too long to not have encountered one or two, but they were almost always belonging to another and she would disrupt what was good.

Now...

She found it. She found her man. Her cock.

Aaron changed his angle slightly, driving upwards with each thrust, grinding against that perfect, exquisite spot deep inside her. He leaned over her, his chest plastered to her back, his mouth on her neck, sucking a dark mark into her skin as he fucked her with relentless, powerful strokes.

“This is your tribute,” he grunted into her ear. “Not a statue. This. You, coming apart on my cock. You, screaming my name into a world I’ve stopped. You, forever remembering the feel of me splitting you open.”

He was a god and she was his altar, and he worshipped her with the most profane and holy of rites. Her moans became a continuous, broken litany. She lost count of the convulsions that wracked her body. A dozen? More? They blended into one another, a never-ending cascade of pleasure so intense it bordered on hallucination. She was a vessel, created for this singular purpose: to be filled by him, to be broken by him, to be remade by the sheer, overwhelming **** of his possession.

He felt his own climax building, a tight, coiling pressure in his nutsack. He pistoned into her, harder, faster, a machine of pure carnal intent. One hand returned to her hip, anchoring her for his final ****, the other groped and squeezed her breast, his fingers abusing her nipple.

“You want me to breed you?” he growled. “You want my cum deep in your witch’s cunt? To remember me by?”

“YES! PLEASE! FILL ME! BREED ME, AARON! I NEED IT!” Circe shrieked, her body convulsing in yet another shattering peak, her internal muscles milking him, begging for his release.

With a final, guttural roar that seemed to challenge the frozen sky itself, Aaron slammed into her to the hilt and held there. His own release was volcanic, a hot, torrential flood that poured into her depths, claiming her, marking her from the inside out. He pulsed again and again, each jet a testament to his primal power, seeding her with a legacy far more potent than any statue.

He stayed buried inside her. The whole of the island was thick with the scent of sex, magic, and sweat. Circe’s arms gave out and she collapsed fully against the cold stone of his statue, her body utterly spent, a limp, satisfied doll held up only by his still firm grip on her hips and his presence within her.

After a long moment, Aaron slowly, reluctantly, pulled out. A soft, wet sound accompanied his exit, and a glob of his seed escaped down her inner thigh. He looked down at the breathtaking sight of her ravished, used body, bent over the monument to his own physical perfection.

A low, satisfied chuckle escaped him. “Now..."

Circe did not fall. She was still bent over, underneath the large statue of his. “Haa…haaa…”

“Measure it, bitch.”

Circe turned herself over. Eyes half-open, she dropped to her knees. She took the tip of his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head. "One," she murmured, taking him deeper. "Two... three..."

She bobbed her head, taking more of him with each stroke, her hands gripping his thighs for support. She could no longer speak, she spoke through telepathy.

"Four... five... oh, you're so thick!"

Aaron smirked, hands on his hips. "Keep counting, Circe. I want to hear you say it."

"Six... seven..." she panted, her lips sliding down his shaft. "Eight... nine..."

This did not intrude on his brain. Rather, it was an announcement to anyone and everyone. Which, unfortunately, was no one since time was frozen on the island.

As she reached ten, eleven, and beyond, her enthusiasm only grew. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of lust and challenge, as if she was determined to take every inch he had to offer. And Aaron was more than happy to let her try.

When she finally reached fourteen, she had THAT look. That look of triumph. "There," she said through telepathy. "All of it. Every delicious inch.”

Some men hated witches. Aaron could not for the life of him understand why. "Good job."

At the end of the day, they were lonely, horny woman wanting more. That was all.

By the time he was done with her, Circe the Weaver was fucked stupid. Her gazebo as a temple for his cum and her body a whorish mess. Her Ani-Men watched and could do nothing as Aaron got away with such defilement. If Circe’s dead husband saw the sorry sight he would fall into a rage. Besides the fact that his wife killed him, her holes were stretched far too much for him to use.

The sculpture and the woman—both marks of his time here. Both marks of his superiority over every male that dared to step into this nude colony.

“Goodbye, Circe,” Aaron said dismissively. “It is good to see that villains can get a second chance.”

From being Wonder Woman’s enemy to a man’s person cum bucket. What a bizarre development of character.

Many would come to see the statues of the man with the biggest cock in the world, including Starfire (to Dick's horror), Blackfire (to her planet's delight), Lucius Fox (on the insistence of his wife, Tanya), Knockout, Scandal Savage, and Liana. Harley Quinn, a resident of the island, often teased the smaller men that walked upon the two statues.

Indeed, Circe decided to build a second.

The first had Aaron with a hand on his hip and his massive dick limp on his thigh. This was created after he left.

The second was him with his arms crossed and his cock fully erect.

Nevertheless, his status was sealed. The life-size statues were there to compare and no one could beat him. His legend was carved in stone on an island that only a select few could come to. An island of great value. An island that kept two statues that served as a reminder to heroes and villains alike: be good or else this stud may come over and steal your woman.

The name of the mane and his size were inscribed in diamond.

The Most Well Hung Man In The World

- AARON REIGNER

- Height: 5’11” / 180 cm

- Flaccid Cock Length: 10.6 inches

- Erect Cock Length: 14.4 inches

- Born: Gotham City, New Jersey, USA